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She Writes Jul 12
I thrive in the darkness
I'm better off being heartless
She Writes Jun 29
Your mood changes
Like the second hand on a clock
My hour hand keeps moving
But I just can't keep up
She Writes Jun 28
I pen my poetry in ink
Instead of lead
Because I tend to ovethink
Then begin to dread

Criticize my own writing
Before the critics get the chance
My anxiety fighting
Telling me to erase with every glance

My work isn't good enough
Erase write repeat
Poems are just not up to *****
I should accept my defeat

So now I use ink
There is no going back
Nothing to rethink
No need to self attack

My words freely flow
From pen to page
Allowing myself to heal and grow
Displaying my poems on main stage
She Writes Jun 28
I pen my poetry in ink
Instead of lead
Because I tend to ovethink
Then begin to dread

Criticize my own writing
Before the critics get the chance
My anxiety fighting
Telling me to erase with every glance

My work isn't good enough
Erase write repeat
Poems are just not up to *****
I should accept my defeat

So now I use ink
There is no going back
Nothing to rethink
No need to self attack

My words freely flow
From pen to page
Allowing myself to heal and grow
Displaying my poems on main stage
She Writes Apr 25
I am a volcano disguised as a mountain.

I used to be active, erupting in a fit of rage without notice. Destroying those around me, even the ones I hold most dear.

I have slowly become dormant. I have painted a beautiful facade. I appear strong, steadfast, solid and safe.

The truth is I am still a volcano. I am hollow, unstable, ready to explode at any second.

My feelings, my magma, are churning and turning beneath my sturdy exterior. I am constantly under pressure. The gravity of the world presses against me. I am in a continuous battle with myself, trying not to explode. Trying not to destroy those around me.

Occasionally the pressure becomes too much, and my magma pours out of me. The people that have made their home around me are always shocked when I erupt.

I cry to them "what do you expect when you build your life on a volcano?" To my surprise a small few have chosen to rebuild, choosing to live on my volcano knowing full well I just may destroy everything they have built again.

One day I will become extinct, then I will truly be a strong, sturdy mountain, and a safe place to call home.
This is not a poem, but it felt poetic. This unedited, straight out of my journal. Raw and true. Someday I will turn it into art, but for now, it will remain a rant from an anxious over-thinker.
She Writes Apr 5
When my daydreams take center stage
There is no greater way
For this tale of love to curtain
Than for us to linger hand in hand
For all our remaining days
Growing old on the porch swing
Watching our children's children play
Amongst the wildflowers
On a brilliant spring day
<3
She Writes Mar 27
She deserves everything that she wants,
but she doesn’t want everything that she deserves.
How do I show her that she deserves to be happy too?
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